Make Believe
by Sinsanatrix
Summary: Iruka's reflection of Kakashi,he'll gladly keep on playing though, as long as he keeps saying those sweet nothings. Iruka POV, KxI, slight lemony-lime hybrid one-shot.


Dedicated to my lovely Koosh (ToastedNeko)

Iruka POV, Kakashi X Iruka,

WARNING: this is a bit of an angsty Limey-lemon hybrid fluff bunny that isn't actually fluffy but I let it live in its own delusion to keep it happy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto neither do I own the coffee I am drinking

Hope you enjoy ^x^

_Lets hide behind the willow Tree, just you and me. _

_Hide behind its swooping branches and pretend this will always be._

_It hides away my fears and hides away my doubts, _

_I know that laying here forever is only a dreamt of treasure._

_I can pretend._

At night I wait for a short oblivion of darkness, seemingly long in physical hours, relatively short in feelings of pass. Eyes staring above at the ending and dirty white ceiling. The little dreams I can acquire now and again all have one same notion. You.

Your renowned for your apathetic and detached portrayal. I wonder, do you even conceive dreams? Or maybe nightmares.

The only evidence to show such is the days when instead of in stealth and acquired control you appear in front of the memorial, you wonder in a slight daze through Konoha. Is it in thought or distraught? You however, eventually end up at the memorial and are only ever that little bit later than usual.

I often feel pointless, year in, year out I raise innocent buds of youth from children to trained killers. The repetitiveness of such a life makes me feel like a rather trifling specimen of human. I do not stick out nor do I specifically blend in. I merge within society because I am, to be blunt boring but for this reason I also stick out like a sore thumb. Unlike colleagues, unlike particularly you, I refuse and dislike the taste of danger pressed firmly to my lips. I do not find the conduct exhilarating.

So with this pointless feeling imbedded with in me comes some joy and a gift, I suppose. However this life I lead brought about a meeting with you didn't it. Naruto, ever happy outwardly, but crippled with in. You could see it and never once let up on him, that I am grateful for. Still I believe you favoured Sasuke even if logic sways alternatively with Minato and Naruto's relation.

I hate you Kakashi, I truly do. Even when our bodies are entwined, and your cool and stoic demeanour has been washed off that irritatingly gorgeous face. They say you are handsome, in Konoha, under that mask. They're wrong. It's more than handsome it's undeniably, beautifully, attractive and even elegant. I hate it.

I'm a spiteful and callous man, though you'll call me a boy. You taunt me verbally and physically, your horribly cruel. Crueller to me than to your prey, crueller to me than those who try to get close. You'll whisper those sweet poisoned words into my ear, hands caressing skin, teasing it in gestures I do not approve of but can not decline. Then the following day walk past, not even acknowledging my existence, like the cocky, arrogant pig you really are. A slinky, supple harlot, underdressed and over powdered wrapped around your repulsively well-toned body.

I hate you and you wonder why? You ask me why at the peak of climax, instead of screaming your name in love and passion, I whisper vicious scorn and murmurs of hate? All I can and will reply is that you don't deserve the conceited lie and promise of love. You have your floozies and playmates to calm your insecurities why should I?

You tell me you have never kissed your little dolls, you say your kisses are reserved for only me. It's laughable in all honestly that such sappy nonsense can spew from your lips. Kakashi are you that egotistical that because little, old, dull me won't kiss your feet and worship your body, that you must try to deceive?

I like to indulge in the notion that it is you that worships me. It seems very likely at times. When here pressed up close against the willow tree, you trace kisses on my skin tickling it tenderly with your wet, pink tongue. You sigh ballets of twaddle onto my back. It shooting through me. Not the words but the breath itself. Your sentiments actually make me feel ill, it's true.

But here pressed into the willow tree, your body moving nearly erratically, your reserve banished in hopes of a sweet release. Groaning in ecstasy as sweat runs down your face. I can not help but gasp as you slid with in me, grinding against the nerves that sends pleasure bolting though my body and swelling deep in my stomach waiting.

In these moments I can pretend. Pretend you worship the face I was born with, the scar I am adorned with. That when you kiss each of my toes after, you generally do

adore them. I like to think in the short time after I've reached that blissful void, that you share the same warm fleeting feeling, that I suffer in my chest cavity. I sometimes think that if I where to hide behind this willow tree, forever, you may one day truly see me.

So while you play you stupid little games I will teach little children to grow up and become good little murderers. But when you finishing toying with me, how will you discard me? I am aware that I am your longest little interest, and I find it a little stupid. Why would an arrogant little pig, like you, want to play with a little defect like me? Answer me.

Because until you answer me, I will never utter those special three. The words I say to no-one and you to anyone, who offers you a bed. I'll gladly keep on playing though, as long as you keep saying those sweet nothings. The meaningless adoration that you keep placing on me.

Thank you for reading!

I 3 kush!


End file.
